Detox
by Julie Frost
Summary: Justin Taylor is in over his head when a crazy Japanese man from the future assigns him the task of rescuing Isaac Mendez. Heroes x Queer as Folk crossover.
1. Your Life is Worth a Broken Glass Pane?

**Detox**

Summary: Justin Taylor is in over his head when a crazy Japanese man from the future assigns him the task of rescuing Isaac Mendez. Queer as Folk/Heroes crossover.

Rating: Teen for language

Timeline: Queer as Folk - Post-5.13; Heroes - Post-_Parasite_

A/N: I know, a crossover like this is pretty weird, but they're two of my favorite characters ever (and they're both so darn pretty!). I thought, hey, Justin's an artist in New York, and Isaac's an artist in New York too, so why the hell not? This is still a work-in-progress, and I'm not even sure if this will end in romance or just friendship, but I'll play it by ear and see what you think. Hope you like!

* * *

**Day 1: Your Life is Worth a Broken Glass Pane?**

In a game of "Whose life sucks the most?" against anyone in the world, Isaac Mendez would invariably win. Eden, the sweet girl who befriended him and helped him finally get clean after a long struggle with addiction, had committed suicide a couple of weeks ago. He had accidentally killed the love of his life, and the son of a bitch he had intended to shoot had vanished into thin air -- literally. For all he knew, New York could blow up at any minute.

Now here he was, back on smack and staring at a grisly collection of oil-on-canvases depicting his imminent, gruesome demise. Although he didn't believe in God, Isaac silently prayed that getting the top of his head sliced off wouldn't hurt as much as it looked.

But was he ready to die? Should he fight it? Accept it? If Peter had managed to save the cheerleader, surely Isaac could do something about his own life. But it wasn't like he had anything to live for, anyway. Save for a handful of friends and a tiny legion of avid _9th Wonders_ readers, nobody would notice if he fell off the face of the Earth.

Isaac had no answers, but he knew that one thing was certain: _God damn it, I need to get high._

He trudged pitifully across his loft in nothing but paint-stained pants and a large comforter wrapped around his shoulders. On the table was the syringe, a harsh mistress if there ever was one. He hated it so much, and yet he felt like he was nothing without it. Isaac's sketchbook lay open beside it. His most recent drawing was of a blond man, with piercing blue eyes, an angelic face and a warm smile. Like much of his art, it left him baffled -- he may be able to draw the future, but he wasn't always able to decipher it. Isaac slammed it shut, deciding that he didn't need any more conundrums clouding his brain.

The room starts spinning once the needle penetrates his flesh. He injected a copious amount, possibly lethal, but at this point, it didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. And though something may have happened in between the moment that the world got blurry and the moment the world slipped away, the amount of heroin in his system ascertained that he wouldn't remember any of it when he woke up. _If_ he woke up.

Everything fades to black, and the last thing Isaac hears is his own body crashing to the floor.

* * *

_Thank fucking God._

After what seemed like the longest bus ride in his entire life, Justin Taylor was filled with relief once the bus had finally reached his destination. He enjoyed bus rides, especially when he could look outside the window and enjoy New York, beautiful despite its many flaws. This particular one was ruined, however, when a strange Japanese man in a samurai costume decided to sit beside Justin and yammer on endlessly about destiny, the future, and saving the world. To his credit, though, his English was impressive. Justin spent the whole bus ride faking a smile and nodding while half-listening to whatever Samurai Nutjob was talking about. _Mel did warn me about the psychos in New York, but I didn't think anyone was THIS crazy._

He was secretly grateful for Samurai Nutjob, though. If anything, at least he helped Justin forget Brian for a little while. Two weeks had passed, and it still hurt Justin to think about him.

His blond hair, noticeably longer since he'd forgotten to get a haircut in the time he'd spent in New York, flopped about in the chilly wind as he walks to the apartment he's supposed to visit. He was here doing a favor for his new art dealer, Mr. Weiland, who had asked him to deliver a paycheck to Isaac Mendez. "He was supposed to come here three days ago, but he was a no-show," Weiland had said. "You don't mind, do you?"

Frankly, Justin didn't mind it at all. He stifles a laugh, remembering a moment back in Michael's comic book shop less than a year ago. Michael had giddily ambled in, urging Justin to check out this "awesome series called _9th Wonders_," and while Justin displayed only a passive interest in the comics itself (he wasn't much of a comic book guy), he and Michael spent a good half-hour gushing over the hot, mysterious author/artist whose picture was on the back page. Then Ben showed up, and Michael hid the comic book while trying to suppress the shit-eating grin on his face.

Justin was admittedly excited about meeting Isaac Mendez in the flesh. He made a mental note to call Michael afterwards and gloat about it. Upon finally reaching the apartment, Justin checks the sheet of paper one last time to make sure he was in the right place. _Yup, 215 Reed Street._ He raps on the door. "Mister Mendez? Mister Mendez, are you there?"

No answer. He is just about to slip the check under the door, when he sees something through the door's glass pane. "Oh, shit!"

He panics at the sight of a man, unconscious and in a crumpled heap in the middle of the floor. Justin figured that it would probably take too long to notify the landlord, so he picks up a rock from the garden outside and hurls it at the door's glass pane. _What the fuck, I'll just pay for it later._ It shatters upon impact. Justin reaches through and opens the door, rushing towards Isaac's body. Beside it is an empty syringe, cluing Justin in to what might have caused him to black out. Justin is relieved to find a pulse; he also notes that Isaac's skin is cold to the touch. He picks him up off the floor, and while Justin hasn't seen the inside of a gym since he arrived in New York, it wasn't all that difficult to carry Isaac's frail, emaciated body to the bed. Years of experience with druggie friends in both New York and Pittsburgh had taught Justin what to do in case of a drug overdose; he started by putting Isaac in the recovery position.

After dialing 911 and informing them about Isaac's condition, Justin sits down on the bed next to him and places a warm towel on his forehead.

Perhaps calling Michael to gloat wasn't such a good idea at this point.

* * *

Justin shifted in his chair and glanced around the hospital room. Isaac was on the bed, still unconscious, pale, and hooked up to an IV. Six hours had passed since Justin had arrived at the hospital (via taxi -- damn EMTs wouldn't let him ride on the ambulance since he wasn't family), and in that time, Justin studied Isaac's features, remembering something that Samurai Nutjob had told him. He'd barely listened, but somehow his head retained the soundbite: _"He's__tall, thin, Hispanic...brown hair, pale skin. It is important that you stay close to this man at all times. His life depends on you."_

_Now's as good a time as any,_ Justin thinks. He takes out his cellphone and calls Brian.

_"Hello?"_

"Hey. It's me."

_"Oh...hi. It's been two weeks."_

"I know. I'm sorry. And I know that I'd promised to visit all the time, but I...do you honestly see us working this whole thing out?"

_"No,"_ Brian admits, laughing. _"Look, my feelings for you haven't changed one bit since you left The Pitts, but you and I both know that I'm just --"_

"Not that kind of guy?"

_"Yeah."_

"I figured."

_"You were right all along. We just want different things. You should find someone who will love you just as much as I do, minus all the drama. Someone who makes you happy. And I promise you, Justin Taylor, that the day you finally have that big, beautiful wedding with those silly golden gardenias and whatnot, when you get the big house with a white picket fence, three kids and a dog, just like you'd always wanted, I will be there to cheer you on."_

Justin smiles. "Thanks, Brian. That really means a lot to me," he says. "And when you get into an orgy with twenty hot, sweaty guys, I promise I will not whine and bitch about your lifestyle."

_"I'm...really glad to hear that,"_ Brian laughs.

"So, can we be friends?"

_"With benefits?"_

"Oh, Brian."

_"I'll take that as a 'maybe.' And 'maybe' is just a 'yes' that needs some persuasion."_

"And if I said 'no?'"

_"'No' is just a 'yes' that needs more persuasion."_

They both laugh. "So, how's Liberty Avenue treating you?"

_"Exceptionally well. I've got three men coming over in about ten minutes. And how's New York?"_

"New York is beautiful and all, but between living with a druggie roommate, sitting beside an absolute basketcase on the bus, and finding some guy OD'd on the floor, it's pretty hectic."

_"Find anyone you like?"_

Justin's gaze lingers on Isaac. "No, not particularly."

_"Well, it'll happen for you_._"_

From the bed, Isaac starts coughing. "Hey, I gotta go. Love you, Brian."

_"Love you, too."_

Justin clicks his cellphone shut and brings a cup of water to Isaac's bedside. Isaac gratefully takes it and empties it of its contents. "You're awake," Justin says, unable to refrain from stating the obvious. "Welcome back."

Isaac eyes him up and down. Blond hair, blue eyes, fair skin...it was _him_ -- the drawing in his sketchbook. "Who are you, where am I, and how the hell did I get here?"

"I figured you were the friendly type," Justin chuckles.

"Sorry, I'm...shell-shocked, to say the least. And admittedly, a little disappointed that I'm even alive. This wasn't supposed to happen."

"Oh. My apologies, then." He sets aside the empty cup and fishes for Isaac's check in his back pocket. "I'm Justin Taylor, and it's all my fault. I broke the glass pane on your door, too, but I promise I'll pay you back."

"Don't. I owe you my life, so I guess that makes us even."

"Your life is worth a broken glass pane? You, sir, have some serious self-esteem issues."

Isaac grins, but says nothing. Justin hands him his check. "Anyway, like you, I'm represented by Mr. Weiland, and he asked me to deliver you this. Then I saw you unconscious, in the middle of that huge mural you have on your floor, so I dialed 911. The rest is history."

"That still doesn't explain the broken window."

"Well, I had to enter your apartment to get to you, so..."

"Oh. Right."

Justin takes a paper bag from the chair and places it on the small table beside Isaac's bed. "The doctor prescribed naltrexone to help with the recovery, so I got it earlier from the drugstore across the street. He said you'd be fine as soon as you woke up, just drink lots of fluids and take the pills as prescribed. The prescription's in the bag." He awkwardly stares down at his feet. "So, um, good luck with the detox, and it was nice meeting you. See you around."

As he turns to leave, he feels Isaac's grip on his forearm. "Please don't go."

"What?"

"I want to get clean. Trust me, I really do, but I can't do it alone." Isaac looks up at him pleadingly. "Please, help me. I honestly don't have anyone in my life right now who can."

It wasn't a good idea, and Justin was well aware of that. He had just gotten out of a dysfunctional five-year relationship with a sex addict, and it was unwise to get into one with a drug addict, be it a platonic relationship or otherwise. If he couldn't fix Brian, he probably couldn't fix Isaac, either. Justin had gone through enough trouble sorting his own life out, and his meth addict roommate Anita, awesome as she was, only added to the stress. And while he himself was now clean after leaving his party-boy lifestyle in Pittsburgh behind, majority of his friends weren't. _Come on, Justin_, he thinks to himself, _just tell him to check his sorry ass into rehab and run as far away as you can!_

Yet he couldn't; not when Isaac was looking at him like _that_ with those expressive, chocolate brown eyes. In this moment, Isaac wasn't the mysterious man in the picture, but rather a lonely, vulnerable person, who needed help badly. And since Justin does have a heart, he relents.

"Okay, fine. I'll call my roommate and tell her I'll be gone for a couple of weeks. But the moment you fall off the wagon, I'm heading back to my old apartment."

"Thank you, Justin." Isaac smiles, which is something he rarely does, and damned if Justin didn't want to see that smile over and over again.


	2. Exes Suck

_A/N: _Sorry for the delay! I'm suffering from writer's block. Someone help me, please -sniffle-

* * *

**Day 2: Exes Suck**

"Justin Taylor." Isaac chews on the name as Justin drives them to the loft after retrieving some things from Justin's apartment. "Oh, now I know where I remember you from! You're the artist of that comic book, _Rage,_ aren't you?"

Justin laughs, turning pink with embarrassment. "Oh, no."

"Right? Rage, the gay crusader?"

"I was hoping people would forget about that. It does seem kind of silly, in retrospect."

"Are you kidding? All my gay friends from college loved it, and so did I. Pretty daring of you guys to release one where JT's giving Rage head on the cover." He squints at Justin. "Come to think of it, you do resemble JT a little bit."

As they stop in front of the loft, Justin reaches a hand up from the steering wheel to half-cover his face. "Let's not go there," he says, still laughing.

Isaac opens the trunk and reaches down to get Justin's luggage. "Anyway, who were you talking to earlier?"

"...Huh?" Justin blinks and shakes his head, momentarily distracted at the sight of Isaac bent over. He panics -- if things were messy enough as it was, it would only get more complicated if Justin's attraction to Isaac manifested itself. _I can NOT fall in love with him,_ he thinks. Never mind that Isaac was funny, and dreamy, and sweet, and gorgeous...

"When I woke up, you were talking to somebody on your cellphone."

"That was my ex..." Justin pauses for a moment. "...boyfriend." _Hell, it won't matter whether or not he knows. He seems straight, anyway._

"Ah. Exes suck." Isaac fumbles with his keys before finally unlocking the door, noting that Justin had clumsily taped on a large sheet of newspaper in place of the broken glass.

They enter the loft, each carrying one of Justin's suitcases. Justin tries not to think about how cute and gentlemanly he finds it. "Brian and I are friends, but I do get your point. Is your ex the reason you tried to...you know?"

"I'm an asshole for even saying it in the first place, especially considering the fact that she's, um, dead."

"Oh God, I'm so sorry."

Isaac flops down on the couch and stares at the ceiling. "To answer your question, yes, my turbulent relationship with Simone was a big factor, but so was the recent suicide of one of the few friends I have, this crazy ability I have that is ruining my life, and the fact that I was the one who shot Simone."

Horrified, Justin takes a step back.

"It was an accident, I was aiming at this guy who...oh God, it's complicated. Really, really complicated. 'New York is about to blow up and we can't stop it' complicated, and that wasn't even hypothetical. If you want to call the feds, Justin, I don't blame you, only I have no idea where the organization hid the body. I sound like a total psycho, don't I?"

This was definitely more than Justin had bargained for. Clearly having had the wind knocked out of him, he sits down on a suitcase. He measures his words carefully before speaking. "Well, I'm not going to call the cops, so don't worry about that. I'm just here to help you get clean."

"Hey, look on the bright side -- at least we'll have a lot to talk about."

Justin chuckles nervously. "Um, okay?"

"And they took away my gun, so I wouldn't be able to shoot you."

"I should hope not."

"I wouldn't want to, anyway." Isaac nervously thumbs through his hair. "You're still okay with this, right? I'm really sorry for imposing, I just...I didn't know who else to ask."

_He's cute when he's all insecure like this. Wait. Shut up, Justin._ "It's okay," he assures him. "My roommate is cool with it, and I've got enough clothes and art supplies here to last me a couple of weeks, so it's really not a problem."

"You have no idea how much this means to me. Simone had been trying for two years to get me clean, but I kept falling off the wagon. I always felt like my art was only worth something if I made it while I was chasing."

"Yeah, I know a lot of people like that."

"Have you ever...?"

"Not for art, no, but I used to when I was younger -- poppers, coke, but I wouldn't call myself an addict. It was like social drinking, but with drugs," he laughs. "But I'm well-aware that Sweet Lady H is a real bitch."

"She is."

"Drugs are a big part of the whole gay club scene, which I was active in for a few years. I have this friend, Ted, he almost died from an overdose on GHB. I didn't use, like, every day, but I did when I went clubbing back in Pittsburgh. I've completely stopped since I came to New York, though."

"You've been through all of _that? _But you look so young."

"Not that young," he replies, grinning. Hanging out with Brian, Michael and company certainly skewers one's perception on age. "I'm 22. I've been clubbing for five years, so...yeah, I did have a crazy childhood," he laughs. "My ex was a real party boy, and I pretty much followed him around everywhere."

"This Brian guy kinda messed up your life, huh?"

"A little. He's a sweet guy, just has a bit of a problem letting that side of him show." Justin leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Tell me about Simone."

"She was my art dealer. A very strong, independent woman -- I have a feeling I sort of dragged her down. The hospice nurse who was taking care of her dying father fell in love with her. Asshole put the moves on her the moment we broke up."

"Why did you break up?"

"Drugs, and this weird ability I have to...oh fuck it, it's complicated."

Justin smiles sadly. "Aren't they all?"

* * *

That night, Justin lay curled up on the couch, unable to sleep. He shuts his eyes tight and tries, but he can't get the worry out of his head. Sure, Isaac was nice, and his looks certainly didn't hurt his cause, but even in comparison to Justin's circle of drama-queen artist friends, Isaac carried a hell of a lot of baggage. Dead girlfriend? Secret organization? And something about a special ability? What the fuck was Justin getting himself into? 

From the shadows, a figure steps forward into the moonlight, startling Justin.

"HOLY SHI--"

The figure places a hand over Justin's lips to silence him. "Shh! Quiet!" a gruff voice hisses.

Fearing for his life, Justin has no choice but to obey. "Who the hell are you?" he whispers.

"It's me. Hiro Nakamura." the man replies, switching on a nearby lamp. "The man from the future. I dropped by last night, but no one was here, so I figured you'd be back today."

Under brighter light, Justin recognizes him as Samurai Nutjob, the sword-wielding Japanese man who ruined his bus ride the other day. "What do you want from me?"

"I told you yesterday, didn't I?"

"Yeah, like I was even _listening!_ I thought you were just some crazy person!"

Hiro rolls his eyes. "Your role here is important! The artist's life depends on you," he hisses, pointing toward Isaac's bedroom. "We are all counting on you, Justin Taylor. Five years into the future, an evil mastermind named Sylar will have honed Isaac's power immensely well, to the point that he can predict our every move. In fact, I'm sure he knows I've teleported to the past right now, which is why I can't stay here long. If you can save Isaac from getting murdered by Sylar in five days, you can save the future!"

"What the fuck? Why me?"

"I've planned this whole thing out. I spied on Isaac's art dealer, Nathaniel Weiland, and I saw him hire you and ask you to deliver a check to Isaac's apartment, so I figured you were the most convenient person to tap."

"So, let me get this straight: You're from the future, and I'm supposed to save the world? Is this some elaborate practical joke or something? Did Brian or Michael send you here? 'Cause in that case, tell them they win -- I was scared shitless."

"It's not a joke, I'm afraid," the samurai replies. "Don't you remember? If you had just listened yesterday...how else would I have known that you were visiting Isaac? How would I have known that Isaac was tall, thin, Hispanic, brunet, pale-skinned?"

"Okay, point made. Why can't you save him yourself, then?"

"I told you, Sylar's powers of precognition are now so powerful that he can visualize the future of any one of us. If I'm here for long periods of time, he'll know and try to stop me. As it stands, he's hunting me down -- he wants to steal my power more than anyone else's."

"Oh God, my brain hurts."

"Just keep an eye on Isaac. I will come back in five days and tell you what to do." Hiro shuts his eyes and, to Justin's astonishment, vanishes into thin air.

And again, Justin wonders what the hell he just got himself into.

Dazed, Justin clicks off the lamp and tries once again to go to sleep, but hears whimpering and wheezing from the bedroom. Without bothering to turn on the lamp again, he trudges through the dark to Isaac's bedroom.

"You okay?"

Isaac, clearly suffering from the effects of withdrawal, is reduced to a quivering ball under his heavy comforter. Cold sweat drips down his face, which is visibly pale. "C-cold," he mumbles, staring at nothing in particular.

It broke his heart to see him like this, so desperate, so helpless. Justin slides underneath the comforter and wraps himself around Isaac's body, using his own body heat to warm Isaac, Their bodies were separated only by the thin material of Isaac's shirt. Justin held him until the shivering stopped.


End file.
